As the Flame Flickers

The challenge of observing the anniversary of the death of someone never born.

When the anniversary of my parents' deaths comes around, I light a memorial candle according to Jewish tradition. Within its glass container, the golden light glows and swirls, a reminder of someone precious who was once a part of my life, and still is, though no longer in this world. As the flame flickers, the soul is comforted by its light and warmth.

But how to observe the anniversary of the death of someone never born, who never fully entered this world? There is no ritual to mark his passing, yet if he had lived, my baby would have been a part of our family no less than his older siblings.

My husband and I had always dreamed of a big family. We were blessed with four children for whom we were deeply grateful. Each one so special, so unique. Despite having the same parents and environment, their individuality continually amazed us. And so, we longed for more.

Once, like many women, I had taken my fertility for granted. Our first two sons were conceived and born without any difficulty. Our third child took a bit longer and then he was almost three by the time our only daughter finally arrived. By then I was older, an "elderly multipara" in medical terminology. The years went by uneventfully. Each month I tried not to hope, because I feared I’d only face disappointment.

Still, I did all the necessary things – visiting one doctor after another, spending endless hours in their waiting rooms, being poked and checked and pricked for monthly hormone-level tests. Obediently, I swallowed the pills I was given, underwent the ultrasounds, endured uncomfortable treatments. The doctors could not understand why I was willing to suffer all this.

I discovered a woman doctor who understood my yearning for one more baby.

“You’re over 40, and you already have four children,” they said. “Why do you want another baby so badly?” The doctors, who see desperate childless women all day, could not relate to someone like me, someone with secondary infertility. Then, I discovered a woman doctor who understood my yearning for one more baby. In fact, she had known the pain of childlessness herself and had finally adopted a little girl. She admitted that my age made the situation problematic and that my chances of completing a successful pregnancy were slim.

“Still,” she reassured me, “I've seen miracles happen.”

Her words were sweet and encouraging. She prescribed a new type of medicine. Dutifully I swallowed my pills, hoped, prayed and cautiously waited.

When I realized I was expecting, it was early spring, an auspicious time for starting a brand-new life. Like sap rising in the trees, tremulous hope began to stir.

It was far too early for maternity clothes, too soon to be choosing a name, but we both had a feeling that this would be a boy. Although I had once longed for another girl, a little sister for my only daughter, at this point I didn’t care about the gender. “As long as it's healthy.” We repeated the words of all expectant parents and meant them.

Walking along the street that shiny April morning, I had a sudden vision of this tiny new being who had just started to grow within me. I saw a smiling baby who resembled a photograph of my husband as an infant. However, there was also something deeply disturbing about the image. The baby was in a garden but instead of sitting on the grass, he hovered a few inches above it. Though very close to being in this world, he did not actually touch it.

And, sadly, he never did. Soon afterwards, I began spotting. I crawled into bed at this ominous sign, gripped with fear. Maybe if I just kept very, very still… I tried to reassure myself that all might still be well, but it was not to be. Our precious little soul slipped away, returning to his Source.

The doctor in the emergency room confirmed that I had "lost" the baby. I remember thinking it a strange expression – as if I had simply misplaced him somewhere.

I had never even held him in my arms, yet our potential child, who would have been welcomed with such joy and love, was gone. We could not publically announce our loss and be comforted, but a loss it was nonetheless. No one had even known of his existence except my husband and me. We had to mourn alone, in silence.

My other children needed me and I was grateful for that. It was spring time and they clamored to go on a family outing. Thinking a change of surroundings might help diminish some of our grief, we consented. Sitting in the park, we breathed the warm spice fragrance of the tall pine trees. Bright blossoms dotted the lush green grass. But it seemed to me that almost every woman there was either pregnant or holding a tiny baby over her shoulder. My loss was inescapable. Even now, after all this time, when I look at the photographs we took that day, I recall my sorrow.

One year later we found ourselves at a beautiful lake for another springtime outing. The passage of time had helped me heal. Tired from the journey and dazzled by the lovely scenery, I had forgotten this was the anniversary of the day our unborn child died. But suddenly he came to my mind, unbidden, as though to remind me of the fact. Reaching into the clear cold water of the blue lake, I touched a small, smooth stone. My baby had been even tinier than that when he died. I closed my fingers around it, glad for something tangible to hold.

In the secret stronghold of my heart his tiny flame forever flickers.

A stone. I thought of my parents and of the tradition of placing a stone on their graves whenever I visit. I pictured them in heaven, playing with their baby grandson, loving him as they had loved their other grandchildren in this world. I took comfort in that image and in the hope that one day, when Moshiach comes, we will find each other. My son will call me ‘Mommy’ and I will hold him at last.

I wanted to light a memorial candle for our "little soul" feeling he would be comforted by its special light. But my husband asked our rabbi and was told, regretfully, that this is not done. A stillborn baby could have a memorial candle but it is not appropriate for a miscarriage.

What did I learn from my little soul's wisp of a life which brushed my own like a butterfly’s wing? Perhaps to better appreciate the children with whom we have been blessed. To have more patience and compassion. To better share the sorrow of others. A reminder that all of life is precious, no matter how fleeting or intangible it may be. Although I cannot light a memorial candle for my baby, in the secret stronghold of my heart his tiny flame forever flickers.

Visitor Comments: 19

(18)
Barry McMullan,
September 10, 2012 4:42 PM

Our Similar Loss or will it be a future Addition

Cassie and I had four children and she had her tubes tied. Later she received a blessing that we would have more children. We always winked knowingly. But then came micro surery. Her tubes were reattached and we had four more pregnancies with one child lost or were they. Hopefully, Cassie knows already in heaven!!!

(17)
Roberta,
December 31, 2011 6:26 AM

Thank you, I'm consoled

You've consoled me by sharing your loss, thank you. I look forward to reading your warm, vivid work in the future. As different as our lives may be you've shown where we truly connect.

(16)
Anonymous,
October 29, 2011 7:08 AM

It remains forever

I lost a little one 54 years ago, and though I was blessed with two children later, I never forgot the little boy that was stillborn when I was 7 months pregnant.
Each September, I think of him and I guess I always will.

(15)
Fay,
October 27, 2011 3:45 AM

I, too, grieved over my 7 miscarraiges!

Although we are tremendously blessed with a nice size family, I have never forgotten the pain of each miscarriage. Several of them were interspersed with healthy births; the last 4 happened after my youngest was born. Menucha, may you find a nechama. I totally disagree with Lauren that your article reflects the attitude that the more children you have the better you are. Wanting to have more children is a very personal feeling and kudos to all who try despite difficult circumstances. My biggest nechama is that after Moshiach comes, we will meet our lost children.
May you have only simcha from now on and nachas from your beautiful family. Kol tuv.

(14)
Anonymous,
October 26, 2011 8:58 PM

I feel for you. During the course of my childbearing years I had 3 miscarriages. Even though I had children afterwards nothing fills the gaps in your heart however grateful one is for what one has. Although it may not be a constant in ones thoughts it never goes away fully, even now while enjoying grandchidren

(13)
SK,
October 26, 2011 6:14 PM

Thank you.

The anniversary of one of our losses is 11th of Cheshvan, so was so appropo for me to read. Thank you for the support. So much potential...

(12)
Anonymous,
October 26, 2011 3:10 PM

i understand your pain

after having my two daughters, i had 4 pregancies that finished differently but all without a baby. the most difficult , to this day , 16 years later, was when i was 18 weeks pregant and did the amiothisis test as i was in my 40s. i lost the baby boy erev yom kippur so i can never forget. it doesn't matter how many children you have, you never forget the ones you lost.

(11)
Rechama,
October 26, 2011 5:58 AM

Undertanding the loss

Dear Menucha, I myself never to had a 'mis', Boruch Hashem, but my grandmother did. I had trouble conceiving at one point, so I can understand that personally. My grandmother lived a long life, B"H, and never got over the loss. I know that's not words of comfort, but I felt her pain and I always wondered why something like that would happen. My grandmother was a very special and sensitive person and I really wanted to tell her something that would bring her peace. The 'mis' happened during the holocaust, while she was displaced in Siberia. One day, it occurred to me that had the baby come into the world, the baby would have been born into squalid conditions, at a time that was so precarious for Jews, that there was a very good chance the baby wouldn't have survived. My grandmother also had a lot on her shoulders during the war, other people to care for...I realized that my grandmother's loss, may actually have been an act of chessed on G-d's part. Maybe my grandmother was spared the heartbreak of watching her child die, while she watched helplessly. Or maybe others lived because she was able to care for them. If you ask why she got pregnant to begin with, maybe because the only thing this neshama was missing was the joy of being expected, or someone to mourn it's loss. We won't know for sure until we can ask the questions personally, after 120 years, but there is a reason for everything. It's a Jewish mother's lot to feel guilt about anything and everything, and this is certainly a place where guilt can bloom like a rose. Those feelings are best directed at G-d, not the guilt, but the pain. G-d feels a mother's pain, since He is also our parent and suffers with us. We have to use the pain to draw nearer to G-d, and hopefully G-d will respond by bringing joy into our lives in the future. Of course nothing can ever replace the unborn child, it's loss is there, but knowing there was a good reason, even if you don't understand it, helps ease the burden. All the best, R

(10)
anonymous,
October 26, 2011 1:03 AM

I have been in your shoes

I was 43 years old when I found out I was pregnant, on one hand thrilled on the other hand positive my baby would be born with deformities. I miscarried on Pearl Harbor day Dec.7th so the newspaper never lets me forget if I even wanted to. I dreamed it was a boy and at one point saw a vision of my grandmother's face. She looked sad almost angry. After I miscarried, I realized why she looked that way. I will miss the 6th child that was never born. He would be 7 years old and who know how my life would have changed. I try not to think about it and concentrate on my future without him.

(9)
Anonymous,
October 26, 2011 12:17 AM

Thank you for sharing your thoughts

It's difficult to share innermost thoughts with close family and friends. How much more so with those of us you do not know. Thank you for your willingness to express your pain. May this article give you some nechama.

(8)
ruth housman,
October 25, 2011 10:52 PM

the soul of an unborn child

This is a piece about the angst of losing, of losing someone who is almost there, but not quite, and I think, that soul exists somewhere, and yes, that you will hold that soul tight to yourself, because what happens in life, is not under our control, but ultimately it is a story that involves a Creator, our father, our King, as we say, Avinu Malkeynu, and I think G_d also has feminine characteristics, being a holding environment, a receptacle for our sorrows and our joys, as we woman hold that womb and feel that quickening, those kicks within.
There is an alchemy to life that involves the sorrow and the pity, and joy and the ecstasy, All together in one bundle, and we all get our share of both, as all life is deeply bipolar.
And so I feel, yes, you will come to that child, in some way, and know, that soul, is yours, and came to you, for a reason, and so you are bound.
We do not know how this works. But by some pure alchemy, I know there is an answer. I actually think the Moshiach is here.

(7)
Lauren Adilev Cohen,
October 25, 2011 9:01 PM

be grateful!

My first baby, a boy, was stillborn due to medical malpractice. I was able, b"h! to have a daughter and son after that but due to medical problems can't expand my family. I do have sympathy for you but you do have four kids and a miscarriage in no way compares to delivering a dead baby and then burying it. I dislike the thinking that says the more kids one has, the greater you are and this attitude is reflected in your article. You have four healthy kids b"h;I know many women who couldn't carry one pregnancy. You can't dwell on this miscarriage;instead you must love and cherish yr kids.

(6)
Elaine,
October 25, 2011 4:23 PM

ATIME.ORG

There is a wonderful organization for IF support called ATIME.ORG. They helped me tremendously and I encourage others to contact them as well.

(5)
ladydi,
October 25, 2011 4:18 PM

blessings

blessings to all women who suffered loosing a baby in vitro. I'm sure their pain is tremendous. I can't imagine going thru this grief. Bless you all.

(4)
Anonymous,
October 25, 2011 3:44 PM

Light a candle

I understand the desire to light a candle. When I miscarried after the 40th day from conception I began to light an extra candle on Friday nights for my little "neshamale". We too had been trying for years with all the treatments for this little soul. I imagine our little soul up in Shemayim advocating for us and our desire to bring a soul to earth.

Ann Brady,
October 26, 2011 2:20 PM

I Too Light an Extra Candle on Shabbat

My first child, Baby Robin, I lost at six weeks. This was 39 years ago November, and each July I remember when s/he would have been born. A mother does not forget such moments, even when G-d blesses her with more children, as I was blessed. My heart goes out to you, Anonymous, and to you Mrs. Levin. Thank you both for writing.

(3)
Anonymous,
October 25, 2011 3:21 PM

I am very touched by this article, as I am by anything regarding miscarriages. I have suffered 10 miscarriages, but Hashem has also blessed us with 5 healthy children. My last miscarriage was about 10 years ago, and my 2 youngest were born after them, but the memories are still there. Any mention of anything to do with miscarriages brings back those times. I totally agree with the writer, as an orthodox woman the hardest thing I had to deal with was that there was no outlet within religion for my pain. I needed some kind of "personal kaddish".
A friend gave me an article about neshamot - that there is a heichal of neshamot in heaven where all the neshamot wait to be born (leave the heichal) and the Mashiach will come only when this heichal is empty. The problem lies with many neshamot who are too holy to enter this world but must leave the heichal. Therefore special women are chosen to take this neshamot out - to bring the Mashiach - but they cannot be born into this world. A different approach - some kind of consolation - who knows??
Even after all that I have been through, I am still not totally comfortable talking out in public about my personal experience, but my main message would be that miscarriage is "real", and this is not just a case of "oh well, s/he wasn't a full term baby anyway" or "next time it will work" and all sorts of other insensitive comments that people make.
Miscarriages are real. We lost real babies. And they will be in our hearts for ever.

(2)
Alan S.,
October 16, 2011 11:03 AM

This is a wonderful article. Though I wish that the circumstances were different, and that Ms. Levin would not have had a reason to write these particular words, still, the heartfelt and eloquent words herein did indeed capture some of the pain my wife and I felt in almost very similar circumstances. Thank you Ms. Levin for your beautiful prose.

(1)
Anonymous,
September 11, 2011 9:03 AM

Find Comfort

Although I am B"H a mother, I have had many miscarriages. It was always frustrating that there was no tangible vehicle for my grief. There is a section of Har HaMenuchos cemetery in Jerusalem where stillborn infants and late-term miscarriages are buried. Most of their graves are unmarked. it is a very holy place. I went there to grieve. It helped me in a profound way.

I live in rural Montana where the Cholov Yisrael milk is difficult to obtain and very expensive. So I drink regular milk. What is your view on this?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Jewish law requires that there be rabbinic supervision during the milking process to ensure that the milk comes from a kosher animal. In the United States, many people rely on the Department of Agriculture's regulations and controls as sufficiently stringent to fulfill the rabbinic requirement for supervision.

Most of the major Kashrut organizations in the United States rely on this as well. You will therefore find many kosher products in America certified with a 'D' next to the kosher symbol. Such products – unless otherwise specified on the label – are not Cholov Yisrael and are assumed kosher based on the DOA's guarantee.

There are many, however, do not rely on this, and will eat only dairy products that are designated as Cholov Yisrael (literally, "Jewish milk"). This is particularly true in large Jewish communities, where Cholov Yisrael is widely available.

Rabbi Moshe Feinstein wrote that under limited conditions, such as an institution which consumes a lot of milk and Cholov Yisrael is generally unavailable or especially expensive, American milk is acceptable, as the government supervision is adequate to prevent non-kosher ingredients from being added.

It should be added that the above only applies to milk itself, which is marketed as pure cow's milk. All other dairy products, such as cheeses and butter, may contain non-kosher ingredients and always require kosher certification. In addition, Rabbi Feinstein's ruling applies only in the United States, where government regulations are considered reliable. In other parts of the world, including Europe, Cholov Yisrael is a requirement.

There are additional esoteric reasons for being stringent regarding Cholov Yisrael, and because of this it is generally advisable to consume only Cholov Yisroel dairy foods.

In 1889, 800 Jews arrived in Buenos Aires, marking the birth of the modern Jewish community in Argentina. These immigrants were fleeing poverty and pogroms in Russia, and moved to Argentina because of its open door policy of immigration. By 1920, more than 150,000 Jews were living in Argentina. Juan Peron's rise to power in 1946 was an ominous sign, as he was a Nazi sympathizer with fascist leanings. Peron halted Jewish immigration to Argentina, introduced mandatory Catholic religious instruction in public schools, and allowed Argentina to become a haven for fleeing Nazis. (In 1960, Israeli agents abducted Adolf Eichmann from a Buenos Aires suburb.) Today, Argentina has the largest Jewish community in Latin America with 250,000, though terror attacks have prompted many young people to emigrate. In 1992, the Israeli Embassy in Buenos Aires was bombed, killing 32 people. In 1994, the Jewish community headquarters in Buenos Aires was bombed, killing 85 people. The perpetrators have never been apprehended.

Be aware of what situations and behaviors give you pleasure. When you feel excessively sad and cannot change your attitude, make a conscious effort to take some action that might alleviate your sadness.

If you anticipate feeling sad, prepare a list of things that might make you feel better. It could be talking to a specific enthusiastic individual, running, taking a walk in a quiet area, looking at pictures of family, listening to music, or reading inspiring words.

While our attitude is a major factor in sadness, lack of positive external situations and events play an important role in how we feel.

[If a criminal has been executed by hanging] his body may not remain suspended overnight ... because it is an insult to God (Deuteronomy 21:23).

Rashi explains that since man was created in the image of God, anything that disparages man is disparaging God as well.

Chilul Hashem, bringing disgrace to the Divine Name, is one of the greatest sins in the Torah. The opposite of chilul Hashem is kiddush Hashem, sanctifying the Divine Name. While this topic has several dimensions to it, there is a living kiddush Hashem which occurs when a Jew behaves in a manner that merits the respect and admiration of other people, who thereby respect the Torah of Israel.

What is chilul Hashem? One Talmudic author stated, "It is when I buy meat from the butcher and delay paying him" (Yoma 86a). To cause someone to say that a Torah scholar is anything less than scrupulous in meeting his obligations is to cause people to lose respect for the Torah.

Suppose someone offers us a business deal of questionable legality. Is the personal gain worth the possible dishonor that we bring not only upon ourselves, but on our nation? If our personal reputation is ours to handle in whatever way we please, shouldn't we handle the reputation of our nation and the God we represent with maximum care?

Jews have given so much, even their lives, for kiddush Hashem. Can we not forego a few dollars to avoid chilul Hashem?

Today I shall...

be scrupulous in all my transactions and relationships to avoid the possibility of bringing dishonor to my God and people.

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